YOUR CART

Arrows by Tony Plocido and Amy Kosciuszko

It hasn't worked for me lately.I thrive on stately yetinept performances.The doorman says good eveningand I sneer; for fear that he hates my face.I taste the acid in his stare.How did I get there?To the point where I am alwayssizing you up. Life hasn't beenso tough and yet my bravadoget shown in multiple staccato punches.Little bunches of sunshinecome at the cost of being unkind.

If I could just remember your face.The way it looked in this place.I could pace circles around you now.Your furled brow and hateful wordswould fly past like birds,if we were to argue.I grew 10 inches in the last year.Every last tear is washed awayand now I say what's your arrow, baby?How will you shoot me this time?I have a mind to find five divinekinds of intervention. This maybring unwanted attention; butit may also bring back my soul.

Her:

Where is your soul?Does it know any bounds?You speak of this soul like it’s somethingyou found on the side of the highwaydoused in glitter and lipstick-A damsel, a sanctum, a savior for your limp dick.

(Amazing Grace how sweet the noiseThat saved my heart from all the boys like you.)

How did I get here?To the point where I’m unclearwhere I end and you begin.I find pieces of myself in places you have been. I’m all over this town.I'm upI'm downIt's got me.and I don’t remember when I stopped recognizing my body.

For every inch you grew,I lost two. I’m small enough nowthat I slip through the cracks in your apologies.So how could you remember me?

I don’t know my own faceunless it reflects a spacewhere men obsess and leave me subjected.Objectifiedby their bad taste and discussion points about souls.

And the bows drawn, are you ready to fight?A battle of words and a hopethat we might make this all work?Make this all hurt? Make usall find worth in this dearth insanity?

Or have I been shot so many timesthat you can see right through me?

Him:

I can't see anything.I'm blinded and bindedto the fact that I have to attackyou.Even with what you're going through,I have to stay true to the manufactured hatred.I took so much time trying to make it. It's a partof my heart and my fistsand my words and my piss.I wish your fall would continue.This whirlwind, in you, would just suck you away.

But I want you to stay.There are so many ways thatwe'll never be separated.I always knew if I hesitatedI would feel this.A meal this good never comes without the heartburn.By why won't my heart learn?

You're the devil in abeautiful dress. A messof ecstasy, lost loveand shitty service. I must deserve this. I just can'tfor the life of meremember why.

Her:

Your selective memoryhas been kind to me.You’re so inclined to bemuch too refined for me.

Bear in mind that we never had a chanceof making it. But we keep on faking it andbuilding our emotions like shrines--Small devotions, for something we don’t believe in.

That shit is a sin andmy heart is a maggot.It beats out of habit and eats at the baggage that keeps us affected.We were only connected throughmutual self-loathing.

So what’s that you’re holding on to?

Aren’t you used to what we go through?I hate you then need you,Deflate you, then feed you.

Maybe you should just drop it.

Him and Her:

As this volley of arrowsbarrels down on us,we only trust our hearts.And thisis the catalyst for why we were torn apart.

Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.